


Seashores of Old Mexico

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Impala Sex, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were sitting in a booth at a Burger King in Kissimmee when he made the suggestion – “Let’s go on a road trip.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seashores of Old Mexico

They were sitting in a booth at a Burger King in Kissimmee when he made the suggestion – “Let’s go on a road trip.”

Wrapping up their previous hunt had been a pain in both their sides, and without the second member of their three-man troop, things progressed to a crawl. Two months since the Fall and Sam, after near-constant badgering and harsh words from both sides, set out to do what he attempted to nearly a decade ago – actually attend college and do something with his life that didn't involve getting drenched in monster blood on a daily basis. They knew it was coming – hell, even _Castiel_ did – and with an air of acceptance between the brothers, he let him go. He would never stop being that sniveling kid in his eyes, but there was a point where he had to draw the line. Sam was thirty years old – he could take care of himself. So he left, bags and all, headed back to Stanford.

The bunker had never been quieter, even with Castiel in an adjacent room.

A week later, having stewed in his own self-pity for long enough and after becoming convinced the sun didn't exist – they _really_ needed windows – he found a case in Florida. Though, the last time he checked, he didn't think vamps _lived_ that far south, let alone in the back of a ride in _Magic Kingdom_ of all places. The world was playing a horrible, cruel trick on them and its name was Mickey Mouse and his merry gang of bloodthirsty cohorts.

Three people had mysteriously appeared in the waters of Pirates of the Caribbean in the previous week, drained of blood and their wallets. Whether they were actually patrons of the park or just dumped there, they didn't actually know. The park had no record of them buying tickets, but then again, someone could have done it for them. Park records were awful, _awful_ things. And even with their fake credentials, they were still forced to buy park hopper passes for the three days they were there. At least Castiel was getting a kick out of the rides; Dean swore if he had to wash his hands again, they would probably end up falling off. Too many snot nosed brats and screaming babies – they permeated his nightmares.

He was in the middle of purchasing the fallen Angel a two-foot stuffed plush of Stitch, because introducing Castiel to the wonders of the television remote had done absolutely _no_ good, when they caught the first whiff of just _who_ their perpetrators might be. Kids, in fact; two girls and a boy, prowling their turf in Adventureland and probably staking out the biggest guy they could find.

So they staked out the ride and managed to stay out of sight until closing, ultimately finding them preparing to sink their greedy little fangs into some poor sap in the middle of the pirate ship scene. Heads severed and one extremely grateful man reunited with his car, they escaped before any lingering staff could find them, with only a case of soaked pant legs. And a weeks worth of cotton candy in the trunk.

Castiel eyed him curiously, still chewing a good portion of his sausage, egg and cheese biscuit and fingering a hash brown on the shared paper tray between them. Dean stole one and popped it into his mouth; his food had long since been finished. “I thought that was what we were doing?” Castiel questioned.

Dean watched him stir his coffee aimlessly, head propped up on a hand. Never would he get used to actually _sleeping_ instead of passing out night by night, nor would waking up at seven in the morning to the sun in his face. Maybe he’d spent too many months indoors and forgotten that sunlight streaming through half-open blinds was a thing that _happened_. “We’re _hunting_ , there’s a difference,” he shrugged. “Road trips are... just driving for the hell of it. Nowhere to go, no place to be. Seeing the country as it is, y’know? I mean, you’ve been alive for _how_ long? You ever stop for a second and just… see the sights?”

“I can’t say I have,” Castiel admitted, shockingly. He sipped his coffee and stared out the window at the parking lot. “I’ve watched humanity from above for ages, I guess I’ve never bothered to ‘see the sights,’ as you say.”

“Then it’s settled!” He clapped his hands. “Wait here, I’ll get my map.”

After a minute of digging through the glove department for the travel book Sam had purchased two years ago – no roads had changed since then, right? – he reentered their booth and plotted out places to go and things to do. National parks were top priority – The Grand Canyon, Smokys, Yellowstone, obviously – followed by roadside oddities and monuments. Castiel even suggested a few mounds spread across Mississippi and something called the Big Texan, and after throwing away their trash and refilling the tank, they headed south towards the Keys.

 

_Key West, Florida_

“Is it customary for strange men to do this to tourists?” Dean could barely stop himself from laughing, even with his hand in his mouth, at the sight of Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, in Bermuda shorts and a flower shirt with a toucan on his shoulder, pecking away at a few stray strands of hair. “I don’t understa—.”

“It’s just something we do,” he bit out, finally allowing himself to laugh, nearly doubling over as he did so. “You should _see_ yourself!” Righting himself, he noted the queer smile Castiel bore and assumed one of his own. “All…flowery ‘n shit. You’d fit in, here. Hey, you want a picture?”

Before Castiel could protest, Dean was at his side, arm in arm in their almost identical outfits while a street photographer took their photograph with a newer-model Polaroid camera for five bucks. Sure it was probably overpriced, but he would pay anything just to remember the look on Castiel’s face. Tourists and locals passed by along the palm-lined street some stopping at vendors and others and restaurants, while the bird crawled off Castiel’s shoulder and back onto his owner’s arm while Dean waited for the small picture to develop.

In the shadow of his hand amidst the bright sun, he could see the grin on his friend’s face – even that small thing could fill a room with unbridled happiness. It was the most emotion he’d seen from him in… _ever_ , now that he thought about it. His stomach warmed. “Hey, y’wanna go down to the beach after we eat?” Because when was the last time he got to watch the sunset without having to look over his shoulder? _Decades_ , probably. “Figured since we’re on the shore, might as well, right?”

Castiel took a long moment before he nodded. Their fingers skimmed each other; they were still locked together, arm in arm. Part of him didn’t want to let go. “I’d like that,” he replied genuinely.

Reluctantly relinquishing their awkward hold on each other, he turned to pat his forearm. “Let’s go, then! Heard there’s a great Caribbean place around here somewhere…”

 

Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten just how late the sun went down during the summer months. As well as the _stifling_ humidity – how could anyone live on in Florida without drowning in air? But the scenery made up for it; maybe that was why everyone wanted to retire and live to their dying day there. The view before them was _worth_ it. Reds bleeding into deep blues and every shade in between, sparse clouds dotting the horizon and fading from sight. Half buried beyond the water, they watched the sun dissipate from view, its final waves of heat melting away into the sweltering, tropical night.

Their toes brushed in the sand on occasion, neither willing to really let the touches stop. Pointer fingers did an idle dance between them, drawing circles on sweat-soaked skin. A head resting on a shoulder, a smile against another’s neck.

This was peace.

 

_Daytona, Florida  
Daytona Speedway_

“So they just… drive in circles?”

Never in his life did he expect he would have to explain how _NASCAR_ worked to an Angel – well, _former_ Angel, he continually reminded himself. After spending five years with the dude, he _still_ wasn't used to thinking of him as anything else. “It’s more complicated than that,” he said while pointing to the cars speeding around the opposite end of the track, heading towards the fourth turn. They were on the grass just outside the gate, both seated and peering through like teenagers. “Each driver races for a different team, and they gotta talk to their spotter—,” towards the middle of the track, “—to know who to pass and who’s ahead of them, when to go into the pits, things like that.”

“It seems… highly boring, having to drive in the same route for that long.”

“C’mon, Cas, live a little!” He butted shoulders and toppled Castiel somewhat. “It’s exciting! I mean, I’ve never really had time to sit and watch an _entire_ race. Always had too many things to do to actually pay attention, but when I did…” He let out a sigh, and grinned, elbows on knees, head in his hands. “Where _else_ can you drive two-hundred miles an hour and not get arrested, right?”

At his side, he saw Castiel smirk. “You seem to fit in here.”

He snorted. “You callin’ me a hick, Cas?”

“Would you ever give it a try?” He turned to Dean. “Racing, I mean.”

He considered it. “Might be nice. But I don’t really think I’d like drivin’ something that ain’t Baby – Oh, oh, look!”

All eyes went to the turn closest to them, one of the drivers spinning out into the wall and taking another with him, several sliding down towards the grassy middle of the track. Cheers and claps went up from the grandstands at the sight of the drivers somehow managing their vehicles away, one dragging their bumper behind and trailing sparks on the asphalt. “ _And_ , I don’t think I’m cut out for the crashes.”

“I think you would do fine,” Castiel conceded, and Dean clinked their empty beer bottles together in solidarity.

 

_Elbert County, Georgia  
Georgia Guidestones_

“I don’t get it.”

They were both stumped, standing before five upright granite slabs, one piled atop to connect them, all in the middle of an empty grass field. The sun burned overhead, its light reflected lightly on the gleaming surface. “Says here they’re supposed to lead mankind when the apocalypse comes.” He laughed at the pamphlet in his hands – been there, done that. “Can you even read that shit?”

Castiel rounded the structure with one hand in his jean pockets, the other running over the inscribed hieroglyphs and runes and God knows what else was inscribed on there. “The message makes sense, but it is impossible to keep the population below five hundred million, don’t you think?” Dean gave a noise of agreement from the other side, reading the English inscription there. How would a world court do _anything_ to help keep the peace between nations? “What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Noon, why?”

Castiel met him at the English slab and pointed to the capstone, both watching the beam of light that streamed through land on a few barely distinguishable words. “Huh, Tuesday.”

“I can’t help but wonder what the purpose of this was, though.” _Same here, man._ “What was the use of building this… _thing_?”

“Shit if I know, dude was probably crazy.” He’d have to read the story in his handout once they got back to the car; he seriously needed to invest in good sunglasses. Why was the sun so _bright_? “Who _else_ would build a giant monument in the middle of nowhere? Probably some cult leader.”

Castiel cocked his head at the structure. “Humans are… _odd_.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

 

_Deals Gap, North Carolina  
Tail of the Dragon, Route 129_

Castiel fared surprisingly well along the eleven-mile trek through the mountains, all three hundred and eighteen curves and all. Dean, not so much.  Thankfully he made it to the pull off around Tabcat Bridge before he promptly pulled over and puked whatever he had for breakfast into the bushes. Castiel watched him with sadistic glee from the hood of the car, arms folded in triumph, his air saying ‘I did something you couldn't.’

Pointing a stern finger, he growled, “never, again.”

_Cataloochee, Tennessee  
Great Smoky Mountains National Park_

“You ever thought about becoming a preacher?” He asked Castiel from across the small church, seated with his feet propped up on one of the pews. His friend was standing near the small row of windows behind the altar, thumbing through a deteriorating Bible with a pen in his hand. Earlier he had delicately adjusted the small Angel statue there, pointing it towards the door. “What with your Heavenly knowledge ‘n all. Could probably give everyone else a run for their money.”

“I’ve never considered it,” Castiel admitted quietly, pausing to write something between the pages and crossing out things. Probably adjusting the story or defacing whatever kids had written in there. “I don’t think it would do any good, considering the current state of things.”

He nodded in assent and shifted his feet back to the floor, leaving the pew to walk through the small one room church to the altar. “What about teaching?”

Blue eyes caught his from above, then turned back to the book in front of him. Another moment to scribble. “If my humanity remains permanent, then it may become a viable option. Don’t humans have to attend universities, though?”

“Y’gotta stop calling us ‘humans,’ man,” he said through a chuckle. “Normally, yeah. But since Charlie’s forging all your documentation, she could probably fake your entire school history while she’s at it. Sound like fun?”

“Maybe.” He then proceeded to rip out an entire page and crumpled it, throwing it towards the door and missing by a mile. They needed to work on his aim. “Children have… _desecrated_ this book. Someone drew a phallus in Psalms.”

He nearly choked in laughter. Okay, so he wasn't mad at circumstance, rather at the state of his Father’s book. “I got a Gideon’s in the trunk, do you want to replace it?”

They did, leaving the fresh Bible on the altar with their signatures inscribed on the front cover, along with a sentence in Enochian he couldn't hope to read in his wildest dreams. He had the feeling it was a warning to whomever decided to draw penises in the binding again. Maybe it would catch fire. He’d like to see that happen.

 

_Asheville, North Carolina  
Biltmore Estate_

It took him five minutes of staring to accept the fact that someone had been _that rich_ in their life to build a house that… _awesome_. In the actual sense of the word, this time. Miles of tan stone and aged roofing, elaborate buttresses and stairwells, room after room after room – how in the _world_ could someone _live_ in a place that big? He felt ten years old walking through the halls into each individual space – bedrooms, living rooms, libraries even a _bowling alley_. What he wouldn't have _given_ to have that life.

The entire time, he felt like someone was following them. Then again, with a house built in the late eighteen hundreds, what did he _expect_? Castiel stayed at his side, just as awed as he was. “This is…”

“Awesome?” Dean finished for him as they stood on the veranda, looking over the mountains into the clouds gathering in the sky. Rain was coming. “Can you imagine what this was like _before_ , when tourists started showing up?”

“You’re a tourist, too,” Castiel chided. “This level of…opulence _can’t_ be natural.”

“Suggesting Vanderbilt sold his soul?” he nudged his side, continuing their walk of the grounds. “Wouldn’t doubt it. _Look_ at all this stuff! Me and Sammy woulda had a _ball_ running through here.” If they had that kind of life, that was. Briefly he contemplated the thought – what would they have been like if they were rich, unburdened by their father’s sense of duty, their mother at their side? Things would be different – Castiel wouldn't be there and the aching hole in his heart wouldn't feel just a bit fuller with his presence.

Castiel echoed his thoughts. “I’ve wondered on occasion, what would this world be like if our circumstances were different. If I weren’t an Angel, if you were uninhibited in your actions and lived as carefree as you are now.” Dean watched him, eyebrows raised. “Would we have met?”

A faint flush crossed his face as he looked down; Castiel brushed their fingertips, the sensation deepening his blush. “I’m sure we would, Cas. One way or another, we would’ve…”

Beside him, the man smiled. “I’d like to think so, too.”

 

_Outer Banks, North Carolina  
Cape Hatteras Lighthouse_

They watched the storm move offshore from under their shared umbrella, the waves churning towards them, disturbing plant life a ways off and shoving it in their direction. Behind them, the lighthouse’s beacon gleamed life into the storm. Surely it was _better_ when it was light out, but for once, he didn't mind. At least he could _see_ today without being the sun being permanently scorched into his retinas. Lightning streaked overhead.

Rain streaked down Castiel’s face, gathering in the corner of his eyes before catching at his lips. “I used to create storms,” he admitted selflessly. “They would tear apart the Plains states and behind their wreckage, new life would form, stronger than ever. It was inspiring to watch.”

He let him talk, choosing to look out into the storm. On the steps of the lighthouse, a cat sat and licked its paw. “So many things remind me of what I was. This,” he gestured to the rain, “most of all.”

“But you’re… okay with it, right?” From his tone, Castiel sounded remorseful. Of _course_ he wasn't fine with it. He’d been alive forever and now being reduced to nothing but a lowly human? Eating, sleeping, bleeding, all things he didn't do before, he was forced to now. “It’s been a few months, but—.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel sighed. “It’s a lot to get used to so suddenly. I’m sorry if it’s… troubling to you, to see me this way.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Hand to his shoulder, he amended, “ _you_ don’t bother me, alright? You thought you were doing the right thing, and it just… backfired.”

“Again,” the former Angel shook his head. “I’m just glad when I fell, it was near you. Otherwise, I’d probably be dead somewhere.”

That was a _great_ image to put in his head. They were having this discussion again, for the fourth time since they reunited. Him trying to reaffirm Castiel’s worth, and Castiel assuring him he was nothing but a burden on his and Sam’s lives. Whatever happened to them needing each other? To just genuinely wanting to be _around_ one another? “Yeah, well, ‘f you died, it wouldn’t’ve been for long, right?” he tried to say through a laugh, the end result coming out as a choked sigh.

Castiel shrugged, taking the question seriously, as always. “In the past, maybe more so than now. Who’s to say God would bring me back? Or any of us?”

That was a good question.

 

_Arlington County, Virginia  
Arlington Cemetery_

The rain continued into the next day, beating through the fog and giving the grounds an even more solemn atmosphere. Both were silent for the entirety of their trip, choosing to keep their heads lowered under the umbrella both in commemoration and to watch their footing. Neither wanted to step too deep in mud. A funeral was setting up under an oak nearby.

All was calm.

 

_Somewhere near Wayne, West Virginia_

Despite constant use of the road guide, they managed to get themselves lost in the backwoods of West Virginia, a ways off from civilization in any direction. The creeping, paranoid part of him heard banjos outside the car doors. They were near a river – he wasn't about to reenact Deliverance any time in the increasingly near future. The Impala had better ideas though, deciding to break down before they could make it back to the main highway. Walking wasn't an option; they were still ten miles out, and the clock on his phone read 11:32PM.

They were effectively, in every way, lost. At least the weather had cleared.

Castiel had long since taken to sleep in the backseat, the knocking of the engine failing to wake him. One of the first things he had learned about his newly human friend – he could sleep through a tornado. And he did a few weeks back; the only night he would admit to actually _liking_ having no windows. Saved them time on cleaning up, too. No glass residue. Just trees everywhere.

He went through the main checklist of car maintenance, ultimately pinpointing it to his own stupidity – they ran out of _gas_. He had an extra gallon in the trunk, but what good would it do at this time of night? Better to park and wait out the darkness than go into the nearest town and hope that someone had a room available. And that meant a choice – somehow make himself comfortable in the front seat, or worm his way onto the back bench and hope nothing psychologically damaging happened? Despite their closeness – closer than most friends, he figured – they had never even slept in the same room together save for hotels, and even then, it was in separate beds. Not that he hadn’t _thought_ about it before.

He made up his mind. “Hey,” Dean hissed, jabbing Castiel’s shoulder blade. The man refused to stir. “Cas, wake up.”

“’M not moving,” the man mumbled, shifting away from his finger. “Sl’p wit’ me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “…If you say so, man.”

Hesitantly, he unlaced his boots and threw them into the passenger foot well, maneuvering over the front seat to nearly fall into the floorboards. His knee would probably be purple in the morning, but what did that matter? “Dude, scooch.”

Castiel grumbled something that sounded oddly like ‘fuck off,’ but eventually rolled over onto his other side, sleepless eyes glaring daggers into his own. “Ignore your omnipresent crisis of sexuality for _one night_ and get over here, or so help me I’ll slash your tires in the morning.”

“Pushy, pushy,” he huffed, but ultimately did as he was told. Castiel curled into him once he laid on his side, limbs thrown over him like he were that stupid stuffed animal he’d been sleeping with for the last week or so. How long had they been driving, anyway? Despite being crushed in his hold, it was oddly comfortable, and he found himself relaxing ever so slowly into it until he felt his friend nod back off into dreamland.

And, placing a kiss lightly in his hair, he closed his eyes and wished him goodnight.

 

_Sweetwater, Tennessee  
Craighead Caverns_

Thankfully they chose not to forgo jackets as they descended into the caverns, the chill threatening to seep through their clothing into their bones. Jeans could only do so much; at least their torsos were mildly comfortable. Still, that didn't keep Castiel’s teeth from chattering every few seconds. “You’re gonna be in for a shock this winter,” Dean joshed, bumping their elbows teasingly.

Castiel rolled his eyes at him. “Forgive me if I’m not acclimatized to the cold like you, but I don’t understand why we’re doing this.”

“C’mon, Americas largest underground lake? What’s not cool about that?”

“This cavern, apparently.” Touché. “How much farther?”

“ _God_ , you’re impatient.” His tone was playful; Castiel still shook his head, probably cursing him internally all the while. “It’s right down there, see?”

It was – down deeper into the cavern past an overlook stretched the green-lit lake, the walls of the cave reflected on its clear surface. Fish were swimming a ways away from the boat docks, a few breaking the surface the closer they ventured towards the rock walls. The others in their group headed in the direction of their guide, while Castiel remained frozen at the fence, eyes warily searching for something. “So you wanna go—.”

“I can’t swim.”

“…What?”

“I can’t swim.” His voice was mildly panicked, fingers white knuckling the fencepost. “I can’t see the bottom, Dean. What if the boat tips, what if—.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay.” Turning Castiel away from the lake, he waved towards the tour leader and tugged him a few feet away. He clasped his shoulders and added, “we won’t go, alright? We can just stand here and look, d’you wanna do that?”

With a breath, Castiel nodded, emotions once again steeled behind that stoic countenance. They spent the remainder of their time watching the lone boat float across the seemingly bottomless lake, listening to the stillness of the cave. With the touch of their hands, he finally felt his friend’s shivering subside.

 

_Louisville, Kentucky  
Worlds Largest Baseball Bat_

“What is it with you… _people_ building large statues of things?” Castiel asked, completely out of curiosity while they both gaped at the hundred-twenty foot statue of Babe Ruth’s Louisville Slugger. They weren’t the only ones staring, but they were probably the only ones looking so _intently_. Namely, one Castiel. “This is highly unnecessary.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Dean grinned. “Wait till we get to see the worlds largest ball of _twine_.”

“There’s a ball of – what?”

 

_Niles, Illinois  
Leaning Tower_

“Hey, hey, Cas! Take a picture!”

It wasn’t the most _embarrassing_ thing he could’ve done, but at least there weren’t that many people around at five in the morning. Why they were awake, even he couldn't answer. Even Castiel was abashed for him, his exasperation showing even from behind his cellphone’s camera as he pretended to hold the replica of the real tower up. Hey, it was the closest he would ever get – there was no way in _Hell_ he was flying across the ocean to Italy.

The phone snapped, and he quickly made his way back towards Castiel before anyone caught the wiser. The sun wasn't even close to its morning rise, their only backlight being that of the lights beaming up onto the structure. And the picture came out well, he figured. He’d have to print it out sometime. “You’re a dork,” Castiel told him, still covering his face.

When did _he_ turn into a ten year old? “And where’d you learn _that_ word?” he laughed. “You’re with _me_ now, gotta deal with it. ‘Sides, that’s what you like about me.”

He finally lowered his hands with a scornful look, slowly shifting to mild amusement. “I like a _lot_ of things about you.” Castiel patted his cheek. “Like how red your face is. It’s cute.”

 _That_ didn’t help calm the shiver that ran through him, just from a simple touch. “I’m a _dor_ able,” he dragged the word out intentionally. “C’mon, we’re goin’ to Iowa. There’s a place I wanna take you.”

 

_West Bend, Iowa  
Grotto of the Redemption_

He expected a lot of things out of their visit, but he didn't expect to see Castiel _cry_. That never happened – the man was stone, even as a human. Except for his understandable fear of deep water and short circuiting electronics on accident, nothing immediately affected him. Except this. Maybe it was the general construction that got to him, after all it wasn't every day they happened upon an entire complex made of precious stones and other mineral material into the form of chapels and other statues.

Or maybe the weight of the world finally came crashing down in front of a statue of Michael crushing Lucifer. It took nearly all his strength to keep the man from falling to his knees and pull him to a bench, allowing him to sob openly into his shoulder. He didn't ask what was wrong – even if he did, he probably wouldn't get an answer. But in his heart he knew. Despite being in company at all hours, despite having a new family, he still felt alone. More so than Dean could possibly comprehend. Isolated from the Angels he had called his brothers and sisters for all of eternity, away from the man he called Father, reduced to using modern weapons without the ability to smite with just a thought.

He may not have understood fully, but he tried. _Damn_ , he tried. “You’ll be okay, Cas,” he sighed into his ear as he knelt before him, Castiel clinging to his over shirt like a lifeline. He patted his back. “You’ll be alright.”

It took a long few minutes before the soul-wracking wails muted to sniffles. His shirt was probably soaked through, but he didn't care. “Pray with me.” They pulled away mutually, Dean staring bewilderedly; Castiel clutched his hands and brought them to his forehead. “I know you don't believe, and I don’t anymore, but please.”

So they did. He lowered his head and held onto Castiel’s hands softly, listening to the tear-laden prayer that would be heard by no one by each other. He prayed for solace, for redemption for the crimes they committed, for safety in their travels. For their souls to enter the Kingdom of Heaven upon their death, untimely or otherwise. For compassion from their companions, for the love of each other.

By the time they finished, he was wiping stray tears from his red-rimmed eyes. They couldn't look at each other.

 

_Outside Alliance, Nebraska_

He would have preferred their first time for… well, _anything_ , to have been in a situation he could control. At the bunker, maybe in a halfway decent hotel, not in the back of his own car on the side of the road under the watchful eye of the moon and stars above. Less than ideal circumstances, surely, but when was anything between them _ever_ ideal? They had hoped to make it to Alliance by nightfall but gave up three quarters of the way there, opting to park in the dirt and wait until the sun rose on the horizon.

What he _didn't_ except was for Castiel to kiss him as they curled together in the bench seat, seeking warmth from each other. It was supposed to be awkward, he told himself. It wasn't supposed to feel like absolution, like it was the only thing on earth he needed to survive. Like it was the one thing he was missing his whole life. Castiel probably felt it too, based on how deeply his fingers dug in through his shirt, afraid the moment would fade if he let go.

He would _never_ let go.

And how that shifted from the innocence of kisses to them both stark naked with him on his back, he _still_ didn't know. Awareness wasn't his friend when all the blood in his body was occupying a currently more vital organ and he was being kissed within an inch of his consciousness. Hopefully no one driving by would notice the steamed up windows or his own handprint dragged down the glass; no one had passed in an hour, not since they stopped and Castiel decided to make their affections blatantly clear with demanded affirmations. Threats would lead to fights – they didn't need that.

So it was said. Part of him always knew it was mutual, but neither had spoken a word of it. Repression only went so far until two people confined in a space for an indefinite time broke down their walls and went straight for the kill. The kill being that of Dean, wet eyes buried in Castiel’s shoulder as the man took him apart from the inside out, breathy little cries of his name escaping into the humid air between them.

“So good, so _good_ , baby,” he managed between pants, the steady, hard rock of hips drawing sounds out of him that he’d never heard from his own mouth. “Gonna come so hard for y—.”

Castiel continued to kiss him stupid, effectively silencing him with a “shut up, Dean” and a tongue down his throat. If he learned that from _porn_ , then he needed to find the source, because whatever he was doing to him was shorting out every circuit in his brain that didn't involve _Castiel_ and _sex_. He could probably come from this alone, the languid thrusts and grinds against his prostate, hands caressing every inch of him, lips and teeth attempting to devour whatever they touched. But he needed more. Even with the harsh grip he had on his friend’s thighs, urging him closer, harder, he needed more.

“Say ‘t again,” he bit through a moan, head cracking the armrest. _Close_. “Say ‘t again, Cas, tell me…”

“Love you,” a tighter hold, a harder kiss, “love you, love you, love you—.”

His nails probably broke bare skin when his orgasm washed over him, his release striping his stomach with a loud sigh. Half lidded, he stroked himself through the last of the shocks while Castiel kissed him, finesse no longer necessary between them. He _felt_ rather than heard him come, the former Angel immobile above him, breathing silent cries into his ear.

In that moment, he felt whole.

 

_Alliance, Nebraska  
Carhenge_

“They replicated Stonehenge with cars?”

It was becoming more and more amusing to watch him every time they visited one of the weirder monuments. Granted this was one of the tamer ones, but still. Thirty-eight cars stacked to emulate Stonehenge and painted solid gray – what wasn't cool about that? “They copied Cadillac Ranch, but this one’s cool too, I guess.”

Castiel spun in the middle of the structure, feet kicking up dirt as he did so. A girl nearby was watching him with intense scrutiny, laughing all the while. “Where’s Cadillac Ranch?”

“Texas.” Dean rounded the perimeter and met him in the middle. “We’ll go there along the way, y’wanna? I’m gonna bring spray cans.”

A nod. “We’re going to paint them?”

“You can paint whatever you want! Can’t do it here, the owner’s get snippy if they’re anything but silver.”

“It would be a nice canvas, though.”

He agreed. “Up for some defacing of public property?”

The smile he wore actually showed teeth this time. “Always.”

 

_Keystone, South Dakota  
Mount Rushmore_

“Y’think there’s really a national treasure in those rocks?” he asked through a mouthful of gift shop pretzel, wiping salt on his pants leg. They leant against the barrier fence with a few other families, overlooking the faces carved and blasted into granite decades before. How people could have the patience to painstakingly plan and carve out such a work of art was a mystery to him. And everyone else, for that fact.

“I’m assuming you’re quoting a movie you’ve yet to show me,” Castiel replied with a thump to his ear. “But no. Neither the Lakota nor the United States government have ever hid a ‘treasure’ on these lands.”

He blew a raspberry. “Don’t take the fun out of it. Think about it, what if we got up there and found it and never told anyone? We could actually buy a _house_ instead of living in a fuckin’ bomb shelter for the rest of our lives. I want _windows_!”

Castiel shot him an incredulous look. “Are you asking me to live with you?”

“…Kinda?” He looked back towards the structure, finishing the remainder of his pretzel before trashing the wrapper. “I mean, you already do, but if we ever got out of there and stopped hunting… Would you even want to?”

The hug Castiel gave him had him simultaneously attempting to break the hold and fall into it. Had they even had the ‘no public displays of extreme affection’ talk yet? Maybe they needed to; someone was probably looking at them with scornful disapproval or fierce fascination. “There’s nothing I’d want more, Dean.”

“Good, good, that's…” With an exhale, he returned the embrace and melted into Castiel’s shoulder, shame be damned. “Y’can stay in my room, too.”

He felt him smile. “Thank you.”

 

_Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming  
Old Faithful Inn_

If they made it out of bed that day, it would be a miracle in itself. Weeks of traveling and lack of sleep finally caught up to both of them, the pair sleeping in well past the time they had planned. They were supposed to be in the park by eight, maybe nine at the latest. Sun shown through the windows of their room, burning once again through his eyelids. He shuffled in the sheets; Castiel held him closer from behind, a misplaced hand covering his face. “Cas,” he whined groggily, attempting to pry the wayward limb free. He didn't budge. “We gotta get up.”

“The park’s not going anywhere, Dean,” a voice rumbled from behind. One arm tugged him closer while their legs tangled somewhat obscenely under the covers. “Can’t we just sleep?”

“Check out’s at noon,” he yawned pathetically. “We gotta get up, stop clinging to me, man.”

He heard a murmur of discontent before a set of lips closed around his earlobe, moving to suck a mark beneath it. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

Oh _God_. “I gotta find you something else to watch other than porn if you’re gonna keep talking like that.”

The knee nudging his crotch had him gripping the bedspread futilely. It was _way_ too early for this. “One more hour.”

“Ugh,” he gave up. “You’re lucky I l-love you, else I’d be dragging you out of bed.” No matter how many times he said it, it still tasted foreign to him, both word and in feeling. At least with a tanned hand splayed over his bare heart, he could believe it was real. It _was_ real.

“I know you do,” Castiel mumbled. "Go back to sleep."

They barely made it to the lobby before checkout.

 

_Lebanon, Kansas  
Geographical Center of the Lower 48 States_

“You could have come here at any time,” Castiel said beside him. “Why now?”

He turned to stand with his back to the sign, deeming Lebanon the center of the United States. “It’s a cool sign! How often can you say you live in a town with that kind of distinction?”

Castiel smirked at him, shaking his head. “You find amusement in the smallest things. It’s an admirable trait of yours.” With a ruffle of his hair, he headed back towards the car. “Are you coming?”

Dean chased him all the way back to the Impala.

 

_Potter County, Texas  
Cadillac Ranch_

In the cover of night, they parked their car along the small driveway and, knapsack over one shoulder, proceeded into stand in front of the row of ten upright Cadillac’s, all different models, all covered in varying shades of paint. Dean tossed the bag down and rummaged through, taking a red spray paint can. “Take what you want, go for it!”

His design wasn't the most artistic of things – reminiscent of hellfire and brimstone, traces of reds and yellows mixed in across the hood of what looked to be an El Dorado. Even the windshield got covered. Castiel’s was more along the lines of multicolored spheres and diamonds on a white background, all fitting inside black, heavily stylized script that didn't spell out much of anything. To him, at least. He kept switching off between five colors, mostly greens and blues, an orange thrown in for shock value. “You could make a killing off street art, you know that?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask if I could decorate the walls of the dungeon,” he said while picking up the blue can again, “or any other room you may have free.”

“There’s an empty bedroom you can use, pretty sure it was a library once.” He stole the white and black cans and moved to a new car, blacking out the trunk with a few quick stripes. “Never pegged you for the artsy type.”

“I draw occasionally.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched him go for the bag and pull out a purple can, going for the wheels. “Portraits, mostly.”

“You ever draw me?”

He wasn't expecting him to say yes, but he _did_. “I like drawing your freckles.”

He nearly choked on his tongue. “Way to creep on my face, Cas.”

“You have very defining features. Would you pose for me, sometime?”

“Clothing mandatory?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Castiel suggested, and Dean’s face matched the color of his abandoned spray can. “I’ve heard it can be erotic.”

 _Good Lord._ “You’ve been watching Titanic again, haven’t you?”

A quiet laugh. “But you’d do it, right?” Castiel turned to him now, waiting for his reaction. Under the moonlight, he nodded shyly. “We’ll keep that between us, then.”

He coughed. “Good to, good to know.”

 

_Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona_

They weren’t originally planning on stopping, but Castiel had insisted. Of all the parks in the country, _that_ was the one he had suggested right off the bat in Florida. Dean had been talking about visiting with Sam for years, but neither found the time to drive the distance. At least one of them was there now to see it. Maybe he’d text him later with a picture. It had been a while since they last spoke.

Slowly within the gaps of the canyon atop the hood of the Impala, they watch the sun set low in the sky, disappearing beneath the earth in half an hour’s time, the sky bleeding every color imaginable. Hands touched on black paint, fingers clasped between the other, unwilling to let go for anything, not even the world.

If he could have one moment to remember for the rest of eternity, it would’ve been the few seconds Castiel kissed him under the setting sun.

 

_Pacific Coast Highway, Malibu, California  
The Beach at Point Mugu_

“Is there any place else you wanna go?” _That_ was the question – where hadn’t they gone yet? There were other areas, surely, but none immediately sprang to mind.

Castiel was wading in the frigid waters of the Pacific, jeans rolled up to his knees, bare chested to the few beachgoers around them. Dean watched the dolphin’s dance on the surface, praying that one of them wasn't a shark. But if dolphins were around, didn't that mean they were safe? “We should go see your brother. You two haven’t spoken in a while.”

That was reasonable. At least this time, there was no ulterior motive behind his visit. No one was telling him to leave town and abandon his new life, this time. They were there as a source of support, congratulations for embarking on the life he always wanted. He always _needed_.

Maybe that was what they _all_ needed. Dean wanted to travel, Castiel needed to feel like he was worth something, like he was alive. Sam wanted be on his own. As much as they needed each other, they also needed their own space. With that, they could enjoy what they had.

He was content with what he had in his grasp. Castiel at his side, his Baby in park, the world at his fingertips. They could go anywhere.

So they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the George Strait song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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